


Awake in the Night

by raiyana



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26268316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Maeglin wakes early, while his lover sleeps.
Relationships: Ecthelion of the Fountain/Maeglin | Lómion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Awake in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @toastedbuckwheat over on tumblr - based off of [this art](https://mimimarilynart.tumblr.com/post/628183307003232256/maeglin-x-ecthelion-happy-birthday-to-my-love) by @mimimarilynart.

Ecthelion yet slept when Lómion woke in the quiet dark before dawn, the room lit only by the single lamp he left to burn away the shadows of the night and the murky vestiges of his dreams – though he had found Ecthelion’s presence helped lessen those more than waking to find the soft glow on his dresser to remind him that he was in Gondolin now.

That he was safe, even if she had died to make him so.

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he studied the elf sleeping beside him, face smoothed of the daily worries of keeping Gondolin going, and knew that he loved him in ways he had not though possible beneath the dark trees of Nan Elmoth.

Tracing the slender curves of braids that kept Ecthelion’s hair bound at night, he smiled at the softness of it, the inky hue that would spread so easily into waves across pillows when his hands grew eager yet would hold its shape for a night if left untouched.

He touched one, tugging slowly at the thin ribbons that held it tight, tugged until one gave way and his curious fingers could feel the sable silk part around them, unravelling the tight braid with familiar yet always newfound satisfaction.

He could do this, could undo a small part of the armour that Lord Ecthelion wore in council, could turn into just laughing sweet Ecthelion whose mouth tasted like honey and cherries.

Spreading the long tress across the pillow, he watched the contrast of black with the pale green, snaking across the fabric in waves that he could smooth away with a small touch, only to see them reappear when his fingers abandoned their pursuit.

Another braid was almost easier to undo than the first, and when his fingers were done, bereft of their small task, Lómion was left with the sweet sight of Ecthelion smiling in his sleep, hair spread around him like rays on a dark sun.

There was a kiss lingering there, a secret one hiding n the corner of his mouth and Lómion wondered if he was brave enough – worthy enough – to steal it, if only for a moment.

Hovering, he felt Ecthelion’s breath puff against his lips for an eternity of a heartbeat.

But then he drew away, a secret smile curving his own lips, and returned to the ink sketch he had perfected the night before, now dry and perfectly beautiful in the same way as the cherry blossoms it now held had been, casting shadows across Ecthelion’s naked chest as he read a book of poetry aloud.

It would be saved, hoarded like a memory of sunlight through long winters, and later joined by many more, pieces of life in Gondolin adored beyond measure.

Unrolling the thick scroll to an adequate blank space, he placed the thin paper carefully in the centre of the fabric before gathering up the glue he would need to paste it down.

Fabric rustled behind him, and then a gentle hand snuck into the open part of his night robes, tickling against skin as Ecthelion’s lips tickled against his ear.

“I seem to have awoken with my hair in a disarray not of my making,” he breathed, and it was a gentle kiss.

Lómion smiled, turning his head for another as he let a long lock glide across his palm. “Perhaps I was getting ahead of myself?” he asked, feeling Ecthelion smile.

“Only if you do not intend to help me braid it later,” he whispered, and Lómion forgot about the pot of glue and the drawing in favour of another kiss and then another.


End file.
